Sleepy Knight's Cradle
by Fazadragonhart
Summary: Lullaby for you; steel, snow, spindle. Life, laugh, love; things that cruel fate might swindle. With a kiss from the hooded rose, would the slumbering white rise from the steel cradle. A White Rose story in fairy tale style you never expect.
1. Chapter 1

**Sleepy Knight's Cradle**

 **Finally, something to break nonproductive period. A miniseries that suddenly popped out while watching the classic Sleeping Beauty with such nostalgia and playing Dark Souls (lolwhut).** **Expect a filthy lot of purple prose and weird style of writing here.**

 **Now you know the drill. Enjoy, or kindly leave.**

* * *

 **Act I**

 **Panorama (Andantino Affetuoso)**

"It is your fault, Jacques, for breaching the trust of the Winter Hexe."

Anyone who would dare to address the King so casually with his name would result their head being put under guillotine's mercy. Yet, the King knew beheading Lord Ironwood would do nothing to ease his predicament.

"My invasion to Mistral was eons ago, and shortly ended up with our loss anyways. Should she feel the need to toll more loss upon us by condemning the only heir of this kingdom to death?"

"Sins of youth aren't forgettable for many, let alone for a long-living magical fae. You already know Winter Hexe only allow the true Schnee blood to take the throne and declare a war." The gloved hand of the knight-lord reached for the wine. Sweet liquor soothed his parched throat before he resumed his ominous banter with the King. "But your greedy youth self, as the 'outsider king' she despises, waged needless bloodshed. You were too prideful to make amends all these years, and only when she declared her curse you finally admit your folly."

That was the blow that brought his lion-like arrogance succumbing and his arsenal of words empty of rebuttals.

All left in King Jacques were only shame over a rotten folly and despair upon a fresh curse.

"I have a proposition. I'd like to take her under my wing and train her as a knight."

Silvery-white whiskers twitched, following the frowning facial muscles underneath. "And how will it resolve the curse latching on her?" inquired the royal highness.

"Simple. Us knights have nothing to do with spindles. My keep is deep in the woods, with keen-eyed knights will filter and pulverize any spinning wheels and spindles in sights. The princess will be kept within my keep, busied by grueling training until her sixteenth birthday passes. Moreover, with her being a knight, what would prick her to death are spears, not some measly needles."

"You want my only child dies in more gruesome way than a witch's curse?!"

And the old knight only laughed and brushed off the King's outburst. Morbid jokes weren't for everyone, for sure.

"By her sixteenth birthday, she'll be too busy with sword sparring that she'll slumber in exhaustion. And the moment she wakes up, she'll be sixteen-year and _a day_ old, and still breathing. Never forget, Your Royal Highness, Winter Hexe indeed wields magic unsurpassed by many, but not that she is invulnerable."

Unable to adhere the knight-lord's proposition, yet unable to rebuke with any alternatives, the King held to his silence.

"She is condemned by cold steel, just like faerie of legends. Pray and tell, Your Royal Highness," Lord Ironwood gruffly hummed with his hand perched on his sword's pommel. "With what, do you think us knights are armed and armored?

xxxxx

Summer's sun was impartial. To them who brushed brusque stallions, scrubbing stubborn soot from armors, or rampaged on raucous sparring—It gave equal intensity of scorch to everyone.

For one snowy-haired youth, however, the vernal heat had no fury like the scorn and condescending look given by her opponent.

Him with brawny tall build and bright russet hair, and the vertically challenged lithe female with ruffled white ponytail. Stark contrast they were, but they suffered the same agony—bruised from blunt practice sword strikes, breaths raced and sweats profusely lathered their skin.

She hated that look. That one which spelled mockery to her skills and contempt to her lineage—

"White royal cunt! Just give up!"

That was the last call.

Screeching shrill battle cry that could be mistaken for shriek of banshees, she swung the metal blunt edge furiously smashing his face.

His sharp cry of pain broke out with the breaking of his nose and the sudden spike of pain squandered him to the dusty ground with bleeding nostrils. Wrong as it may, she relished the sight of him whimpering-growling like a beaten beast and the attention she garnered for smashing his smug face bloody—

"Weiss! I told you no hitting neck up for sparring with no helmets!"

The whole training grounds went silent as Lord Ironwood marched to the scene. His chiseled visage was stone cold, but it made his fury stood out more than enough to rattle bones with fear.

"C-Curse you, princess! Go back and play with dolls before some sagging old prince wed and bed you!"

"You heard it, my lord! Cardin won't stop insulting me! I can't stand being humiliated-"

"Go to the forge and oil the polearms with Neptune, your practice is over for today. Consider yourself on a probation, young lady," spoke the knight-lord with voice firmer than steel. "Cardin, I cared less if you're the son of Duke Winchester when your mouth and manners are as foul as cesspit. You insult anyone once more, you'll sleep in the kennel with the hounds."

Weiss flashed a triumphant look as the boy was hauled away and the crowd dispersed. This should serve well as a warning to not just Cardin but any dunce aristocrat boys and child-minded knights of Lord Ironwood's court who looked down on her.

Fifteen-year-old, she was no longer a simple page who run hitherto fetching wine or food. She was adult and apt enough to be a squire and fight for her own honor, just like knights do. For hellfire's sake, she even could try her luck unseating full-fledged knights in a joust and shove her glory up to those boorish boys and knights' nostrils.

Too bad, standard jousting rules weren't too friendly to left-handed fighters like herself.

She was a royal princess and heiress apparent of the kingdom. And with that, inevitably came the stigma of her being a pompous spoiled girl with privilege, or a frail damsel in need for a savior knight/prince like those measly fairy tales always foretold. Seems really few would entertain the idea of the damsel _and_ the knight was one same individual, or else she wouldn't have been looked down on by her knight-in-training peers.

The stale grey and drab sight inside the keep did her no good. And she always wondered what lush scene the forest out there might hide.

Lord Ironwood wouldn't be happy to find her snubbed her duty and sneaked out beyond the keep's ramparts. But with the blue-haired squire being head-over-heels for her, convincing him to cover her up wouldn't be hard. Using his infatuation for her disposal was wrong, but he had to learn not to woo a princess when he was low enough to flirt with every maid in the keep.

With her needed defense belted on her hips, she scuttled discreetly as possible to the woods.

Freedom was an alien concept for her. Her childhood was filled with her wondering the vast yonder told by books, heard from servants and guards, but herself never tasted. And her seven-year-old self thought she'd soon be free from the cloistered hold of Castle White, delighted by the premise of her first chance of breathing the world within her knight training.

Then it turned out she was still the same sheltered snowflake, just braised and tempered with harsh martial training. She still peered towards the distance beyond the parapet, and never did her own feet kissed the mud and grass just outside the portcullis.

But not today, she laughed inwardly. Now the sole of her boots trampled the forest's undergrowth as her legs straddle the distance and took leaps over nook and cranny. Her galloped breathing stuffed her lungs with unfamiliar air of open world, greedily wolfing down her first taste of freedom.

All of it was just so good. Oh, why she never tried this sooner, she asked herself.

Her run abated to light walks and she took a rest under a thick tree. She was too excited that she forgot the bruise that gnawed her tired body, or the turns and distances her feet had taken her. It'd be fine, she'd easily find way back; just look for the fortress stood out among the trees…

 _Oh no._

Looking back, all she could see was thick foliage and tight uneven rows of tree trunks. Maybe she could see the keep by climbing over the trees, but alas, the brutal sparring with Cardin left her body unable to climb without falling and hurting herself.

Good grief, she already lost her way.

Oh well, she couldn't have been that far from the keep. Lord Ironwood would easily found her once he was alerted by her disappearance, and a dire punishment would be waiting for her. She hoped she wouldn't have to share the kennel with Cardin—as much as she hated dogs' dungs, they were far more tolerable than that reeking imbecile—

She leaped to her feet as she heard wolf's cry. Her hand blindly reached for either her rapier or longsword—which one, it mattered not for her—and warily eyed her surroundings.

Another cry, a girl's cry, sent her bolting through the thick bush. The sight that met her eyes nailed in sudden halt.

Blood. Blood upon the growling grey beast and the ground. In front of the scraggly monstrosity was a maiden in red hood cradling a scythe with her dear life.

Before she even knew it, her blade had sunk deep to the beast's spine.

xxxxx

Perhaps she was people would call as 'bastard-born'?

It had to be. Bastards were born with bad luck and contempt branded on them—befitting unwanted byproducts of fornication.

Being a 'bad luck' was subjective. Being born as a child of vague parentage, a bastard, was a fact.

She knew nothing about her mother aside from vague description of 'lovely blooming summer' or 'red she-wolf of a wench'—depends from person to person she heard it from. A funny thing is, she never ever heard any single words describing her mother from her own father. Her father rarely talked to her, to begin with.

One thing she was sure was her mother was dead and wrecked the heart of the man she called 'Dad'.

He was wrecked so much that he looked at the last living remembrance of his lover with…

… _Hatred—_

No, not that. Definitely not that word. 'Dad' loved her, just like he loved her mother, right?

Or so she convinced herself for years. A young child surely would have her heart filled with hope and yearning for love, naturally rejecting projections of her wishes' antithesis. As years moved on, and the hopeful gleam of her eyes matured to realistic reflection, slowly but sure she begun to let her desperate hopes go and accept the bitterness sprawled on her life.

Like the lack of love and abundance of bad luck surrounding her.

Once, a whole flock of fat sheep herded by her was maimed by rabid dogs and had to be put down. In a particularly harsh winter, she almost starved the whole village to death by accidentally knocked down a lantern and started a fire that burned some of village's emergency wheat supplies. Many more unfortunate occurrences might or might not be related to her happened, but most are satisfied enough to made her the cause to blame.

The red hood she loved to wear was more of her cover from shame, no longer her last source of comfort like it used to.

Of all people, the only one who cared for her was her blonde half-sister. The one who had all rights to hate her—for destroying what was left between heartbroken blonde daughter and father—showed her more love than the paternal figure whose blood tied thicker to her. Her sister loved her more than anyone could.

Thirteen-year-old, she was good at nothing but making scythe dance reluctantly to reap stalks of wheat. Villagers wasn't too fond of 'the bad luck charm in red hood', but they could always use some extra labor for sowing, tilling and harvest months—and how they love how she could work without moaning about high workload or low pay. The wheat fields were the only space not touched by her bad luck.

A bastard shouldn't wish for more. Her sister, the blustering, bubbly and loving blonde, was more than she could ask for.

Still, it didn't satiate the hollowness that was asking for her father. Maybe she yearned his recognition so much that she agreed to transport a bulky wheat sheaf right from the field to some shady mill across the forest—whilst there was a functioning mill in less than a hundred steps away.

She set down the bundled wheat and her scythe down from her shoulders. If they could talk, the muscles of her shoulder blades would whine from the strain and the destination that seemed out of her reach. She was no stranger to the forest's lay of the land, but why the path she walked felt so long and winding. Her stomach grunted, scolding her for not accepting the extra helping of breakfast from her sister's bowl of muesli, or for foolishly accepting the strange request her father asked.

Her energy was nearly worn out and a wave of hunger rebelled inside. Nothing she had with her beside her scythe and the freshly harvested crop bundle. If only she was a sheep, a cow or a horse, her aching stomach could be quelled by chewing those wheat stalks.

There was a rustle of the bushes she barely registered, but what trotted out from the bushes froze her blood.

A wolf. Huge but scraggly, its eyes shone with the hunger of a pack's beastly outcast. Thick drool oozed past its bared yellowish fangs, ready to fill the starving jaw with raw human blood and flesh.

 _Calm down. Don't make sudden move… carefully reach for your scythe—_

In a sudden surge of reflex, she screamed and swung her scythe just in time when the wolf lunged to her. The thin curved blade hit its legs and the wooden shaft threw the bloody beast to the ground.

She did it. She'd just escaped death, but the fear ruptured her body and rendered her legs to be nothing but limp jelly and feeble sticks. Scythe clutched so tight near her chest, she slid her body backwards against the grass, desperately trying to put up the diminishing distance between her and the hungered beast.

Oh, look at that. Mangled the wolf's feet might be, but its eye burned so bright with determination to eat the red-hooded girl before falling to Death's embrace with full belly.

The color in her face was washed out. Her chest tightened with turbulent air brought by hyperventilation. Is this how a bastard, a bad luck charm dies? Being a meal of a measly animal?

A shriek boomed, but it wasn't from her throat. It was too melodic and laden with courage instead of fear; something that wouldn't come out from a maiden in the face of doom by a wolf.

Lo and behold, the wolf lied dead. But how?

There was another figure on the picture; a young woman with strange white hair in unkempt ponytail, standing on top of the dead wolf, within her grip was a bloodied sword.

"Are you insane? Fighting against a wild wolf alone?"

The thirteen-year-old was too shocked to reply. She cringed when she saw the wolf's blood being flicked away from the white-haired stranger's blade. The contrast of the white, metal shine and the blood gleam was too much.

She jerked softly when the stranger pried her left hand from her scythe. Scruffy cuts and blood marred her backhand and she didn't even realize it—must be from the wolf's claw earlier. The white-haired girl silently poured water from her waterskin to the injured hand and wrapped a bandage in secure comfy bind.

"I don't know if it's from wolf's bite or not, but I won't take chances-"

"It's a cut from my own scythe, don't worry. I'll go to a physician soon."

She felt the need and urge to go soon, lest the stranger would unnecessarily concerned. When she was about to thank her savior, she didn't expect to find the wheat sheaf already hauled on the shoulder by the white-haired female.

"You shouldn't have carried it!" her high-pitched yelp spoke. "It must be heavy!"

"What kind of knight who let injured hands carrying weight of wheat sheaves."

"You're a knight?" She trailed, and the small frown on the white 'knight''s face gave her a mini panic. "Oh my, I'm so so sorry! I don't mean to insult you!"

"I'm not a knight, not yet."

The frown was still there, but the soft voice of the not-yet-a-knight strangely soothed her.

Before the knight-in-training could protest, she quickly grabbed her scythe and walk forth with the other followed beside her.

Along her walk, she didn't spoke a word but stole glances to the knight-in-training—there's a word for it, oh yes, a _squire_. Someone as beautiful as her as must've been belonged to highest classes of the hierarchy, like a daughter of a noble family, or even a princess. Grime and sweat might cake on her face, no smile graced her lips but her beauty wasn't tarnished at all.

However, at this point she was more concerned about the squire's wellbeing—she looked like about to fall anytime. That lean, almost skinny, but stalwart-looking body ( _must be from exercises to be a knight,_ she thought) couldn't hide the subtle sway of tiredness. She swore she even saw a peek of fresh bruise under the collar of her shirt.

It was either this squire trying to impress or just too prideful to admit her fatigue, or both

"Why are you suddenly in the middle of a forest alone, anyway?"

She yelped softly and cast her vision to random direction, hoping the squire didn't catch her staring.

"My father told me to take some wheat to the mill across the forest. Actually my older sister wants to come along but my father really needs her help in the forge, so I went alone."

"Really?" a snowy eyebrow quirked, seemingly taken aback by her explanation. "To me, from the sound of it, you were thrown to the wolves by your own father."

"No, no I wasn't!"

"Then you're a dolt for denying it."

She didn't expect how crass the squire could be. However, what was salting the wound was how nonchalant the snow-haired teen pointed out the possibility she never wanted to find out:

What if her father hated her so much that he'd like to get rid of her?

She need to re-track the flow of this conversation's topic.

"How about yourself?" she asked.

There was a small shade of red infiltrating the squire's cheeks under her knotted brows. "It is a fool of me to wander this forest for the first time without a company."

"Oh, so you're lost?"

"I'm not lost!"

"You are, Miss Knight-in-Training!"

"Fine, I admit I am," grunted the white-haired girl not-so discreetly. "Will you show me the way back to Lord Ironwood's keep, if you may?"

She couldn't hold it and laughed loudly. This soon-to-be knight was just too much, trying to look tough with her adorable denial.

"Hey! What are you laughing at?"

"Sorry, sorry! I'll show you the way! It's coincidentally on the same direction I head to."

The squire deliberately slowed her walk to let her took the lead. The path leading to the lord's keep was actually quite a roundabout way to her destination, but she felt the need to repay the squire who saved her life.

The way they walked led them to the western backside of the keep.

"Thank you for your help," the white-haired squire smiled and set down the bundled wheat. "Are you sure you can carry the wheat all the way to your destination?"

"Yup! Don't worry, I can handle this!"

"Thank you, once again. Be safe on your way."

The way she said 'thank you' made her lost in awe, especially those sky blue eyes that just reflected kindness in her smile. What a person the squire was, a dash of aloof coldness blanketing a kind persona.

She felt the temperature rose near her cheeks, prompting her to look away with a shy grin.

"Can I have your name?"

"Weiss—I'm sorry, I have to go!"

The squire suddenly ran all the way to the fortress.

Yet there's no way she let herself owed the squire—Weiss—a name. With all of the air stored in her chest, she shouted:

"Thank you, Weiss! And my name is Ruby!"

* * *

 **This one kind of style I rarely use, usually when I want to write drabbles/one shots with unnecessary sprinkle of purple prose. But hella fun for me lol.**

 **Never trust me with fairy tales, coz I'll butcher 'em soooo bad lol. Like, why the hell you keep the Sleeping Beauty from the curse by training her as a knight? Well, because a castle filled only with knights won't have any spinning wheels (or spindles, if you're faithful to the source, that is Perrault's version)! They only have giant needles-I mean, spears, lances and rapiers lol.**

 **Or maybe it's just me, watching Sleeping Beauty after playing Dark Souls.**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Act II**

 **Mazurka of a Threnody**

"So, Weiss."

The addressed white-haired squire 'hmm'-ed while oiling joints of armors, without looking at him even slightly.

"I notice you're often slinking out of the keep to the forest."

She froze for a moment before setting down the pauldron carefully. Her eyes now sharply scrutinized the young man whose hair color shared the same shade with her eyes.

"Maybe we can stroll down the forest path together? I knew some interesting places there."

She discreetly sighed in relief. This poor boy only wanted to have his chance with her, whilst she thought he'd trying to rat out her misdeed to Lord Ironwood.

"You're so kind, Neptune," she fake-giggled before frowning. "But no. I want to have my own personal reprieve."

She steeled herself and racked her brain for counterattacks if he tried to use his knowledge to blackmail her. To her relieve, the blue-haired squire chose to wallow on his misfortune and went back to his job. Honestly, she pitied him and his unrequited affection, but it wouldn't bring her to sink to the low and appease his womanizing tendency.

Lord Ironwood was on leave until three next days, which meant she needn't to depend on Neptune to swerve the knight-lord's wrath and kept her head intact. Three days that she could use fully to explore more nooks and crannies—with the red-hooded girl, Ruby.

Now, she wasn't sure on what purpose she'd been sneaking out of the keep these past months; to ease her pent-up lust of freedom, or her curious attraction towards the teen girl in red hood.

They—at first—never made any intentional meet-ups. They just sort of bumped into each other, her in the middle of her aimless strolling and Ruby in whatever errands she had in the forest. It was almost like fortunate joke pulled by fate, the unbelievable twist only happened in fairy tales, that they always ended up sitting together under tree's shade and exchanged stories of each other's days.

For the name of God, she swore she never expected, let alone planned, to have things this way.

Still, she wouldn't lie and admitted how sweet, addicting and thrilling it was whenever the billowing red hood reflected on her blue eyes and the distance between them was less than her arm's reach.

Secretive but delightful their short, capricious times together were.

Just like…

…lover's trysts.

Weiss had to shake her head to ward off the heat pooling on her face.

Preposterous. Between her and Ruby had nothing alike with tales of discreet meeting of _scandalous_ courtly love those troubadours loved above all.

Then again, Ruby wasn't a woman of nobility but a simple peasant. Not that it mattered, let alone made her less fond of the silver-eyed girl.

Or perhaps the humble origin made her more appealing; like a humble crimson wild flower, bursting with silvery radiance that made her heart—

 _Stop, Weiss Schnee, just stop._

She made a mental note to finish at least three tomes of warfare study and kept those collections of romantic verses and ballads of love stories out of her reach.

There she was, the object of her rambunctious musing, sleeping lightly leaning against strong trunk of an oak tree. The squire sighed, irked by how careless this teenage country bumpkin dozing off alone in the middle of the forest.

"Dunce, I hope you're not here to offer yourself as a wolf's lunch."

A pair of eyelids fluttered open revealed sleepy argentine eyes, that upon gazing her ice-hued ones immediately shone in delight.

"Weiss! Took you long enough!"

"Ruby, please be more concerned about your own safety. What if a wild animal assault you in your sleep?"

"W-Well, you're going to protect me, right? You're a knight! Well, not yet though… but still!"

The flustered response from the younger teen tickled her to laugh, but she swallowed it and ended up sighing a scowl.

She found herself sitting on her designated place beside Ruby. The girl in red hood bashfully snuggled to her side with a hushed giggle, looking contented enough without saying anything. Weiss tried not to push the smaller girl and ran all the way back to the keep, with the price of her face turned into a mush of heavy blush.

Good thing those silver eyes didn't see her helpless flustered face, but her sheathed blades instead.

"What is it with my swords?"

"It's just….err, whenever you're out, I see you carrying two swords. Why though?"

"Nothing in particular. For extra security measure."

"Can I see them? Please please please?"

She sighed. She'd better not regret it for complying Ruby's nagging in the end. "You might observe, but refrain from touching them."

The girl in red hood let out a yip of glee and scooted a bit from the squire, giving her space to unsheathe her swords safely.

"It's like you might've seen from town guards, but this is not arming sword. It's a bit different. This is longsword, slightly heavier, longer and gripped by two hands," she explained as she gripped her longsword two hands, giving Ruby a moment to look before she sheathed it.

"This thinner one, is called rapier. Wielded one hand and lighter, this is mainly for thrusting." Weiss slowly drew the lighter blade with one hand, tilting it so Ruby could see it from many angles.

"Your rapier! It's like giant's needle!"

The snow-haired squire raised her eyebrows and stared at her rapier. "I suppose so—don't touch it!"

The red-hooded girl grinned sheepishly and muttered a soft 'sorry'.

"It might not look like it, but it still has edges sharp enough to give you stinging cuts."

Ruby nodded with a small pout as the snow-haired teen put the rapier back to its ebony scabbard, her eyes were still full of awe.

Couldn't the knight-in-training spare more time for her to fawn over the swords? Her father might be a blacksmith, but he hammered horseshoes and farming tools, only occasionally forging standard swords and knives upon rare commissions.

Ah, her father. He still didn't speak a lot to her, but at least the veiled hatred on his eyes was no longer staring at her. Perhaps he finally put up with her existence—or just simply too tired to care for his contempt anymore. She was too afraid to bridge the rift between them, her courage brought her as far as watching his back with sparks and forge's fire as the background.

Love was nowhere between them, but at least the hatred that used to connect them faded. Her luck with her father went as far as that.

However, everything brightened since she met Weiss.

For the first time in her existence, harvest months was no longer thankless times of tedious chores but rewarding joyful hard work. The village enjoyed bountiful harvest, the most plenty for years. How happy she was to see her scythe cut through golden stalks and bundled them to bulky, fat sheaves. She was often gifted with sweet rye bread, buttermilk or small jar of honey as a thank you.

For once, she wasn't there as a bad luck, because Weiss was her good luck charm.

Truth to be told, she loitered around Lord Ironwood's castle because she knew she could always find the squire there. Her slightly haughty, but uncannily melodic voice narrating how her day was filled with clanging swords and cranky horses; Ruby could never get enough of it. She felt guilty, for the marvelous story of a youth paving her way to be a knight, she only could repay it boring recap of a farmhand tilling fields or stacking hays.

She loved every seconds spent with Weiss, falling in a craving for more time together.

Falling for a knight, like in romance tales and ballads sung by minstrels.

Again, Weiss wasn't a knight. Not yet, at least. But it didn't cease to make Ruby feel a bit giddy inside—and maybe a bit annoyed, whenever she bit back a laugh or a smile to let out a scowl or a frown instead. Why she didn't just let herself laugh? Smiles and laughs weren't prohibited in knights' chivalric codes, right?

Ah, it mattered not; for Ruby found herself to be in love with the dashing, grumpy and beautiful (soon-to-be) white knight.

Xxxx

The solstice had breathed its snow and cold—and so the Princess' life was numbered.

The good knight-lord tried to evade the foretold doom; engaging the Princess with steel that burned her skin inside high walls of a keep full of steel-clad knights.

Alas, his effort was naught.

It wasn't that fate was inevitable, but humans were like water—Once even the smallest leak is found, dripping drops of water would eventually escape. So was the Princess, easily leaking out from knight-lord's keep and awareness.

Like water dripping from old steel cauldron—at the day of death the curse had promised, she would find the crack on the stone wall and slip away, to the spindle that was waiting for her fingertip.

So the curse would be fulfilled.

However, did she really want to have it fulfilled?

Within the misty air and gentle snow fall, the lady of winter and snow watched them silently. How they shared a time of gentle togetherness weaved by unspoken warmth in their young hearts.

The white princess, fair as snow but tempered with steel. Her blade only once drew blood—and by that, a life of an innocent girl was saved. Did she have to be the price of her father's bloody arrogance?

That little girl within red hood's embrace, misfortune was her playmate before the white princess shoo it away. Her young heart that had been entranced by the white princess' charm—Did she deserve to have it broken by a spindle's prick?

A said curse will never be able to be pulled back. Not even with all of her magic's might.

For once in her indefinable span of lifetime, the Winter Hexe felt that one thing she thought to be reserved for mortals only;

Regret.

xxxxx

The halfway of snow-crested February, the hallmark of her birth.

It wasn't a distinguished day. Just another day in the keep and its morning session of sparring.

Or maybe, to celebrate her birthday, her sparring was set to be more brutal than usual. Rather than teenagers of her peers, a squire old and experienced enough to be knighted soon was set up to be her opponent instead.

She was under barrage of swings and thrusts she barely countered or dodged. The gap of age and skill between them was obvious—not that she'd give up easily despite all, but her stamina steeply declined and left many holes on her defense.

A backhand upper swing found its way. The supposedly blunt tip landed a bleeding slash on her face, where her left eye was.

The sparring was called off and she was rushed to the healer's chamber. The cut did no harm to her eye, the healer reassured, but enough to guarantee a scar residing on her pale face.

Majestic. Her sixteenth birthday's very first gift was scarred left eye.

She dismissively accepted the squire's apology while the master-at-arms barked orders to investigate the incident. She was dismissed from the rest of the day's schedule to rest.

Maybe she indeed really need to rest for this sixteenth birthday of hers. She'd spent her previous eight birthdays with nothing noteworthy happened. Today, however, all she felt was formless dread churning inside, eating out her focus since sunrise.

Laying on the bed seemed unable to pacify her restlessness and the throbbing under the bandage worsened it.

Maybe the forest's fresh air would be a better remedy.

Mounds of snow littered here and there, forming a good camouflage with her pale coat and snow-white hair for her escapade from the keep. She swiftly ran until white-speckled foliage obscured her presence and took rest on a boulder, retrieving her wheezing breath and ripped the bandages off her face.

That morbid feeling inside her, it stayed and choked her lungs.

"Weeeeeiss!"

And when she heard that familiar shrilly voice, her chest was suddenly free.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was…err…collecting firewood for fireplace and the forge!" Ruby grinned sheepishly, but soon replaced with worried look. "Weiss, are you okay? You look like you're having fever."

"I'm all right, don't worry."

"What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing. Lord Ironwood got me a really tough sparring partner for my birthday and—"

"Your birthday?!"

Weiss quickly covered her mouth with one hand and frantically waved the other. "N-no! Forget my slip—"

"What is heard, can't be unheard!"

Seconds later Weiss found herself dragged by overly chipper Ruby, running through snow-covered ground to a small hamlet.

It was a hamlet of woodsmen and hunters Ruby found when she was asked to deliver some wheat there. The denizens of the hamlet effortlessly fall for her pure heart, affectionately calling her 'The Little Red Riding Hood'. A kind elderly seamstress even made her a new hood to replace her worn old one and a pair of fluffy mittens.

Winters of her life were cold, but for the first time, hers was filled with warmth. It just felt right to share some of it for Weiss and her wintry birthday.

"So, you have something you want for your birthday present?"

"I don't have. It's not that special anyway, just the day I get officially older by a year."

Ruby pouted, unsatisfied with the nonchalant response. Her eyes suddenly lit up as she chirped, "I think I know what you want! A kiss and a dance!"

"What? W-why would I want those?"

"Well…" she hummed, purring softly as the warmth of the seamstress' workshop welcomed them. "Every girl's dream is to have a kiss from her beloved, right?"

"Then I beg to differ."

Her smile was still there despite her dismay—how her beloved didn't quite share the same dream of kisses she had every night.

"But at least we can dance? Please, pretty please?"

"Fine. Just don't step on my foot, dolt."

Ruby squealed happily and slung her arms around the squire's neck, hurling their body into a sudden twirl. With a small squeak, Weiss grabbed her waist, rebalancing their body from falling over.

She was amused when she revealed Weiss to be an even clumsier dancer than her own. The squire really had a hard time trying not to step on her foot, and that dead serious expression of hers was just really cute.

Graceless and awkward their steps and sways were, the contentment of the moment still dazed them. Ruby spied a ghost of blushing smile Weiss had, before she burrowed her own reddened face to the squire's shoulder. She tried so hard not to squeal as she felt the arms around her waist tightened their hold, pulling her closer to the snow-haired teen's lulling warmth.

"It's like the dance in a princess' birthday party," giggled the silver-eyed girl.

"Really, Ruby? You read too many fairy tales," the ice-eyed squire laughed softly.

"And you play too much with swords."

"No, I am not!"

"Yes you are! You even got a scar here!"

Weiss' steps slowed down and her eyes darkened.

But Ruby found it as a chink on Weiss' defense, so she tiptoed and landed her lips grazing the fresh scar tissue.

"Happy birthday, Weiss."

The silver-eyed girl smiled shyly. Not quite the fulfilment of her dreams, but it was a leap of faith before she could taste those lips—

The white-haired squire suddenly pushed the red-hooded girl away. Her eyes bewildered wide with face flushed red, but soon hardened into a faked cold indifference.

"I need to go. Daylight in February is short and I don't want to get caught by Lord Ironwood after sunset."

"No!"

Ruby didn't know how or why, but there was a devilish push inside that lunged herself to Weiss, tackling the squire even before she could reach the door.

They crashed violently to a table littered with seamstress' tools.

"Ah!"

There was a short shrilly wince as a spindle pricked Weiss' fingertip. Both of them stared in bewildered cluelessness at the seeping blood droplet on the pale finger.

Ruby was the one bailed out from the trance first, and quickly scrambled an apology. "Weiss, are you okay? I'm so sor—!"

The squire's body fell unconscious, hitting the flooring with a loud thud.

* * *

 **I'm so worried about my very very slow speed of writing. I thought this will be an easy piece and I can finish this in less than a week.**

 **Now I look at the calendar and realized it took me more than a month. Wow. Wowzers.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story and not dying due to extra intense purple prose topping. Thank you for reading and see you (hopefully) soon!**

 **P.S. If you're not aware, Ruby is currently thirteen here and Weiss is just about sixteen. I guess it's still the perfect time when Weiss is still legit taller than Ruby lol.**


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